


The sun on my back

by pollitt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Inspired by Art, M/M, Probably will make your teeth ache, Puppy Piles, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollitt/pseuds/pollitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek’s moping. The pack make him feel better. Yes, that is the whole plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The sun on my back

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by aredbrush's adorable [Puppy Pile of Great Comfort](http://aredblush.livejournal.com/87075.html?thread=1637667)

A shadow creeps silently along the side of the blanket, up and over the dip of Derek’s back, bisecting him in two from hip to hip. 

“I heard you,” Derek says, not lifting his head from the pillow. Even to his own ears his voice is muffled. And in the few short seconds that have passed, he can feel the fabric of his shirt cooling where the sun’s light has been blocked.

“Of course you did. I’d except -- I’d hope you did. If you hadn’t I’d be more worried,” Derek feels movement and the return of the full heat of the sun, and he hears as Stiles lowers himself onto the blanket. Stiles’s arm slides over Derek’s shoulder and he moves his thigh over the back of Derek’s leg. Derek fights the urge to push him off, to move away from the loose trap of Stiles’s body, and then Stiles’s lips are brushing against his ear, “because then it wouldn’t just have been your pride that was hurt.”

“I’m fine.” Derek tries to sound menacing, or annoyed, or at least like he believes his own words, but the truth of the matter is Stiles is right. And the sun at his back and Stiles’s body pressed against him feels like the first thaw after a really harsh winter.

“Liar,” Stiles says, pressing a kiss against his cheek. 

At that, Derek finally picks his head up from the pillow, turning to look at Stiles, who is wearing an almost infuriatingly sweet smile. 

The kind of smile that makes Derek wants to nose up under Stiles’s chin or curl up against Stiles’s side. “Fuck,” he says instead, and Stiles’s grin gets wider and his eyes get that look like he alone knows how to save the day and he is going to do just that. 

“Yep,” Stiles answers, even through Derek’s pretty certain he didn’t say anything. 

Isaac’s “hey” when he’s still a dozen feet away alerts Derek to the additional company, and Stiles moves his hand from Derek’s shoulder, covering Derek’s mouth before he can start to complain, as he answers a “hi” in return. 

Derek licks the center of Stiles’s palm and as Stiles says “gross” and pulls away his hand Derek hears Isaac settle onto the blanket. Stiles’s leg shifts so he and Derek are pressed together--side to hip to thigh--but before Derek can complain he feels Isaac’s head settle on his back and -- “the hell?” he asks, pulling his attention away from Stiles to look over his shoulder and sees Isaac’s legs stretched out in front of him. 

“Just. . . He’s fine.” Stiles’s fingers are on Derek’s face, turning his attention back, and giving him a kiss as a reward. 

When Scott arrives, Derek does groan and he’s about to announce that his ass is not a pillow when Stiles leans in again and before he presses their mouths together, says, “This isn’t just for you. Not for them.” And Derek gives a quick glance to see Isaac’s hand reaching for Scott and, “oh.”

“Yes. Oh.” Stiles leans in the rest of the way and Derek can feel the tremors of Isaac’s laughter and the weight of Scott’s head and shoulder against his side before he stops thinking about anything but the way Stiles’s lips feel sliding against his own.

Boyd and Erica’s approach the blanket from behind Stiles, and Derek can see their clasped hands as they await permission. 

“Come on,” he says, pulling back from Stiles’s kiss to look up at them. 

Boyd’s smile breaks first, and he leads Erica down the blanket, settling in so his legs are thrown over both Stiles and Derek’s, and Erica follows him down--her legs tangling with his and her head resting on his chest. 

“Let me guess,” Derek says, catching Stiles’s hand as it traces over his jaw. “Jackson’s due any minute?”

“He’s on his way,” Stiles admits. 

Derek feels the warm weight of connection where his pack surround and touch him. He presses Stiles’s hand against his face and thinks maybe Stiles was right, and maybe he can save the day.

“Thank you.”


End file.
